The Brotherhood of the Traveling Vest
by Jehannish
Summary: When Spring Break threatens to interfere with the revolution, Grantaire has the perfect solution- a Traveling Vest.
1. Spring Break

A/N: Hi again! Well, it looks like it's time for a parody. An Amis parody! A "Sisterhood of the traveling Pants" parody! TWO parodies rolled into ONE! Yay! Ok, seriously. If I don't get 5 reviews for this chapter then I'm not going to publish chapter two, since no reviews makes me sad inside. Now, ON WITH THE STORY!!!

It was a warm, breezy March afternoon in Paris. But as usual, the Amis wre sitting inside their stuffy little cafe, planning the revolution.

Enjolras was standing on a table, speaking passionately about the poor and how they must be helped while Joly listened, sniffling because of his cold. Jehan was deep into a poem about some bimbo and not paying attention to Combeferre, who was trying to talk to him about the assignment they had that was due TOMORROW which none of the Amis had started. Bahorel was destroying someone else's property for no apparent reason, as usual. Bossuet was watching Bahorel rip apart his books for no apparent reason. Feuilly was daydreaming about Poland, and Courfeyrac was flirting with the same bimbo that Jehan was writing poetry about. There, now you know what goes on at these oh-so-imprtant meetings.

Suddenly, Grantaire burst in happily, screaming, "SPRING BREAK!!!" Of course, no one really paid any attention until Grantaire ran into a wall and emerged unfazed. Feuilly called Guiness World Records.

Enjolras glared angrily at Winecask. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" He growled.

Grantaire smiled in a way that reminded Enjolras of a drunken horse. "It's something called Spring Break where we actually get time OFF from SCHOOL!!!11!! LOL"

"OMG u r the best G man" said Joly.

"yeh u rox my sox" said Bahorel.

"Why are we talking like this?" asked Jehan.

As no one had a good answer, the Amis shrugged and continued in a non-IM fashion.

Anyway, so Grantaire's announcement made the Amis all cheer really loudly. (You know, like they do at the end of "Do You Hear The People Sing".) Enjolras had to admit, he was a little excited too._ We can plan the Revolution every day instead of having to go to school! _He thought happily. But unfortunately, his noble dream was soon ground mercilessly into the dust as he listened to his friends talk about what they hoped to do for Spring Break.

"I deed sobe tibe id a dice warb place to helb by cold."

"I wanna take a creative writing course!"

"I think I have enough money saved up to visit America!"

Enjolras sighed. It was going to be a very long day, thanks to Grantaire.

As usual.

Will Enjolras get to plan the revolution? Will the Amis all go where they're hoping to go for Spring Break? Will they start talking in IM-speak again? (Oh, the horror!)

Find out... The next time I update!


	2. A Change of Plans

A/N: Hey, I'm back! OK, just to warn you, this chapter sucks. It is for plot-building purposes only. I won't post another chapter until I have at least ten total reviews, so if you like the story, tell me!

It was the next day, and a meeting was about to take place in the cafe. Enjolras was first to arrive as usual, and was waiting for the others/posing in his vest in front of a random mirror.

Suddenly, the door opened and in walked Courferac, looking absolutely miserable. Not even noticing Enjolras' manly poses, he plopped into a chair and buried his face in his arms.

Enjolras blinked at Courferac's OOC-ness. "Um- what's wrong?" he questioned cautiously.

Courferac looked up, his eyes bloodshot from crying. "I have to go to Britain for spring break! I'll have to drink tea and swear by the queen's jewels and go to tea parties and- and- I just don't know if I'm ready to visit a place where people's lives are exactly the same as they are in _Oliver!_"

Enjolras frowned slightly. "Wait- you _have _to? Who's making you?"

Courferac sighed. "My parents."

"Hold on a second." Enjolras stopped him. "You're a college student living far away from your family, you are a grown man, you're in a freaking group of _**Revolutionaries**_who are fighting for freedom, and you still do whatever your parents tell you to?!"

Courferac sniffled. "Uh-huh."

Just then, Feuilly stumbled into the cafe, moaning, "Noooo..." He collapsed at the table next to Courferac.

"Where are _you _going for Spring break?" Courferac asked dejectedly.

Feuilly's eyes filled with tears. Finally, he stammered out, "I'm going to- to- GERMANY! And- not POLAND!" and began sobbing uncontrollably.

"Wait a second, Feuilly. You don't even have parents who would make you go to Germany. You could have gone to Poland anyway!" Enjolras reprimanded Feuilly.

"Nuh-uh." Feuilly disagreed.

"And why not?"

Feuilly looked as though he was about to have an emotional breakdown. "I didn't have enough Frequent Flyer miles on my credit card!"

Enjolras and Courferac stared at him. Slowly, Courferac spoke. "You didn't have enough _what?_"

"On your _what?_" asked Enjolras. But it didn't matter because the rest of the Amis were coming in, and Enjolras had to begin the meeting.

Standing up on a table, Enjolras could see all of the Amis. Almost none of them looked happy.

"Alright," Enjolras began. "First order of business- where is everyone going for Spring Break?"

Combeferre was the first to pipe up. "I'm going to see America!"

"I have to stay here in Paris..." sighed a disapointed Bossuet.

"I wod a trip to sobe islad called Hawaii off ad offer in the back of by adatoby textbook." Joly stated.

"I'm off to Scotland whare the legal drinking age is FOUR!" Cheered Grantaire.

Bahorel stood still, anger raging in his eyes. "I'm being sent to see my friend's sister's husband's stepcousin- _Napoleon_."

"And what about you, Jehan?" asked Combeferre.

Jehan looked embarassed. "Um- yes, well- Mymothersignedmeupforbootcamp." He said as quickly as possible.

Enjolras glared at them. "I suppose your _parents _are all the ones who arranged this?"

The Amis all nodded earnestly.

"So, where are you going for Spring Break, Enjolras?" Asked Bahorel suddenly.

"Oh- I don't konw yet." He responded politely. "I'll probably just say here." Enjolras casually slid his hand into his back pocket. He frowned. Something was in it- a piece of paper. Enjolras pulled it out and unfolded it, remembering that he had recieved a letter that moring and put it in his pocket, meaning to read it later. His eyes widened as he scanned the letter, Bahorel watching him. When Enjolras slowly lowered the note from his face, he was pallid and shaking.

"What is it?" Bahorel frowned, knowing something was amiss.

For Spring Break- I- I'm visiting my parents."

A/N: How's THAT for a good cliffhanger? Oh, and by the way, that thing about Scotland- it's true.


	3. The Brotherhood Is Formed

_A/N: Yay! Chapter Three is finally up! I've been meaning to post this for ages, but haven't had the chance. Oh, and by the way, I would like at least 16 reviews before I update again. Ok, so anyway, just enjoy._

As the rest of the Amis turned to glance at Enjolras' paler than usual face, there was a loud crash from the back of the room. The Amis turned the opposite way all at the same time, not unlike dogs watching people play catch, this time at a blushing Bossuet.

"Sorry," he cringed. "Knocked over the guns."

This sudden jolt back to the present made Enjolras realize something. "If we're all separated, how are we going to make plans for the revolution?" he blurted out, turning to face the rest of the Amis. They were silent.

Suddenly Grantaire's face lit up. "OOH! OOH! PICK ME!" he yelled, waving his arms wildly.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. "Okay... Grantaire."

"First of all, the word 'okay' hasn't been invented yet. It doesn't even get invented in this century."

Enjolras bit his lip for a second. Then he looked up. "Stupid Authoress!" he hollered, shaking his fist at the ceiling.

Comberferre began inching away from him.

Enjolras appeared to have calmed down. "So what did you want to say, Grantaire?"

Grantaire cleared his throat. "Let's mail around an article of clothing that we all have to wear and then write on it and send each other notes and stuff!"

Everyone blinked. (Except Joly, who sniffled.)

Suddenly, Bossuet grinned. "That's a brilliant idea, Grantaire! Instead of sending letters like a normal person would, let's pointlessly ruin a perfectly good article of clothing that could be read, lost, or stolen by anyone who touched it!" he cheered, without a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

The other Amis began to cheer as well. "We can write about all our exciting adventures!" Jehan crowed happily.

"Ad our exidid diseases!" Joly chimed in.

"We'll be the most resourceful group of hot revolutionary students EVER!" Agreed Courferac.

There was a stunned silence.

"Did you just call us... hot?" asked Comberferre slowly.

"Uh..."

"Best description I've heard so far!" Grantaire broke the awkward tension in the air (one of his few talents) and the Amis began to cheer again.

"Everybody QUIET!"

The Amis turned to face Bahorel, who of course had just yelled.

"I was trying to say, what article of clothing are we going to use.

The Amis blinked, utterly befuddled. What article of clothing were they going to use? Such a question bought much puzzlement to the University students. As a matter of fact, they puzzled and puzzled 'till their puzzlers were sore!

Finally, Combeferre spoke. "Well, whatever we use should be noticable..." he reasoned slowly. "...bold...tacky...certainly ugly..." Suddenly, his face lit up. Combeferre had an idea. An awful idea. Combeferre had a wonderful, awful idea.

"Alright, enough with the Dr. Seuss already!" Yelled Courferac at the innocent, childish authoress.

"Ami huddle excluding Enjolras." Yelled Combeferre. Immediately they all gathered around him. Then they broke apart, grins on their faces, and began advancing toward Enjolras.

"What?" Enjolras began backing up slowly. "What do you want?"

Combeferre had an evil smile on his face. "Your vest."

At that precise moment, the Amis burst forward like a pack of vicious dogs (their second dog comparison of the day) and proceeded to tear off Enjolras' vest. Although Enjolras put up a valiant fight, the odds were still like eight to one, and the Amis left him sitting sadly in the corner.

"Combeferre...why?" he whispered, pain evident in his eyes.

"Sorry good buddy, but I didn't have a choice. I would've taken something from Jehan's Wardrobe Of Doom!, but the authoress likes him too much," Combeferre comforted Enjolras.

Meanwhile, the other Amis were discussing who should be the first to get the vest. They finally decided on Grantaire, mainly because the drunkard was wielding a broken bottle and threatening to use it unless he got the vest first.

Combeferre stood up. "Spring Break begins tomorrow, and the Brotherhood of the Travelling Vest unites today!"


	4. In Which Grantaire Is Crazy

_A/N: I'm BAA-AACK! I haven't written any Les Mis fanfiction in so long, mainly because my friend and I finally managed to form a band and it's taken up so much of my time. We do originals, so I've had to write a bunch of music, and practice it, and change it, and so on. But I'm here now, maybe I will come back permanently if I have enough time to do so. (And if you guys give enough positive feedback, hint hint)_

_But hey, you probably don't care 'bout me and my personal life, so just enjoy chapter 4._

_Oh, but before you do, keep in mind that I know almost nothing geography-wise. So if most of the locations are wrong please DON'T bother correcting me. And yes, I do know that Grantaire is a lil' bit OOC in this chapter. Don't worry, he'll probably be fixed by the next chapter he's in._

The next morning found Grantaire at the train station, awaiting the 10:57 train to Brest (he would take a boat from there to Scotland) with childlike eagerness; this was a side effect of his hangover medication.

"Heh heh heh. I'm gong to a town called _Brest_," thought Grantaire's brain, which due to alchohol poisoning on numerous occasions now had the maturity of a fourteen-year old boy.

Grantaire sat down on a bench and twiddled his thumbs as he waited for 10:57 to arrive, so he could embark on his journey to the magical land of the Scots. But you can only twiddle for so many hours before it starts to get to you. By the time the train arrived, Grantaire had already developed severe arthritis in both hands, not to mention the permanent trauma he now suffered form being forced to twiddle for six hours straight (he had arrived at the station a little earlier than neccesary).

But he perked up immediately as the train pulled in. Jumping up in the air, he shouted, "Hooray! Hooray! I'm going to Brest!" As onlookers covered their childrens' eyes in an attempt to protect them from the sad sad sight of The Crazy Man At The Train Station. Grabbing his bags, Grantaire barreled onto the train the second the door was open.

Finding his way into the first compartment he saw, Grantaire settled into his seat comfortably, not noticing the other passengers or the fact that he was completely invading one poor businessman's Personal Space Bubble.

It wasn't long before the boredom of having nothing to do on a long road trip but twiddle your thumbs set in on poor Winecask, and there was no way he would be doing any more twiddling anytime soon. After trying to get a conversation started with a few of the other passengers, all of whom just sort of stared at him, Grantaire finally decided to check and make sure that the Vest was still in his suitcase. Why it wouldn't have been there he didn't know, but it never hurt to be paranoid.

Grantaire slowly opened the suitcase (which was excruciatingly painful due to the arthiritis in his hands), suddenly very aware of the other passengers- or were they all thieves? Theives, every one of them after the sacred Vest that he had been charged with protecting, that the other Amis were counting on him to keep safe. How dare these common crooks even _think_ that they could get past GRANTAIRE! How dare they think that he wouldn't be able to tell who they REALLY were!

Without warning, Grantaire suddenly yanked a glass bottle of liquor from the suitcase (he always brought a bottle of liquor everywhere he went, he never knew when he might get the urge to drink himself into a dazed stupor) and jumped up, brandishing the bottle like a club above his head.

"_Hey, wait, didn't I just do this last chapter?_" Grantaire considered. "_Damned authoress must be running low on ideas again. Ah, well_." Without further contemplation, he continued glaring menacingly at the other people in the compartment.

"SO! You thought your tricks could escape _my _eyes, eh? You thought you could get your hands on _this_, did you?" At this, he held up the vest for all to see. "Well, THINK AGAIN, you fools! And all this time I thought you people were my friends. I thought we were all the best of buddies. But NOOOO! You were just in it for the Vest after all. You horrible, sick, twisted maniacs! I hated you all from the start of this journey. You're all just a bunch of no-good dirty thieves, that's what you are! And YOU-" he pointed to the businessman he had been sitting by- "YOU have COFFEE BREATH!"

By this time, Security had heard his crazed screams, arrived at the compartment, and began forcibly beating Grantaire down with their nightsticks, with were basically the 19th century equivalents of tazers. Grantaire put up a valient fight, but it was a battle never meant to be won. He was down in like ten seconds, and the next thing he knew he was spending the rest of the trip in the Time-Out car.

When the train finally arrived at Brest, Grantaire was feeling a bit better after his "little incident." Getting on the boat bound for Scotland cheered him up even more, especially when he found out there was an on-boat bar. He drank himself into a drunken stupor before the boat even left port, and by the time the boat had set off he had passed out on the floor of the bar, his favorite place in the world to be.


End file.
